


the day the world moved on without us

by denpring, slotumn



Series: Lysiclaude modern office AU [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Corporate, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Angst, Banter, Christmas Smut, Claude von Riegan Needs a Hug, Colleagues to Lovers, Desk Sex, Digital Art, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Existential Angst, Existential Crisis, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Getting Together, Holidays, Illustrations, Loneliness, Lysithea also needs a hug, Mutual Pining, NSFW Art, Office Sex, Porn with Feelings, Stressed Claude von Riegan, i mean theyre working during the holidays, there isnt even that much porn its mostly claude feeling lonely and angsty about life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:47:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28316991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/denpring/pseuds/denpring, https://archiveofourown.org/users/slotumn/pseuds/slotumn
Summary: On the morning of Ethereal Moon twenty-fifth, Claude von Riegan got up and did something he never imagined he would voluntarily do.He went to work, on a holiday.---Or, how to not quite beat, but maybe ward off loneliness for a little while, with someone else who understands.
Relationships: Lysithea von Ordelia/Claude von Riegan
Series: Lysiclaude modern office AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2085132
Kudos: 19
Collections: Slotumn Portfolio





	the day the world moved on without us

**Author's Note:**

> Artist's note: Spent way too much time getting the expressions right. Ah well, Merry Christmas!
> 
> Writer's note: Longest one-shot I've written by far and it's uhhh several thousand words of existential crisis angsting with porn thrown in as a side. Merry Christmas everyone! (More porny New Year's sequel to this coming soon, so stay tuned.)

On the morning of Ethereal Moon twenty-fifth, Claude von Riegan got up and did something he never imagined he would voluntarily do. 

He went to work, on a holiday. 

If someone asked him why, well, he didn't really have a straightforward and/or obvious answer for them. There wasn't any extra work that needed to be done, nor were there shortage of invitations to end-of-the-year parties and events he could attend, and if he wanted, there was enough money in his bank account to book a last-minute trip to somewhere warmer, like Brigid or Dagda or Morfis. (Or some parts of Almyra, but that was— yeah.)

Maybe he was getting too old for those rowdy parties he used to enjoy in his teenage years and earlier twenties. Maybe the corporate machine had him too well-trained and brainwashed. 

Or maybe, he was just awfully, pathetically lonely and hoping someone else like him would also be at the office that day. 

At any rate, his own feelings on the situation could, essentially, be boiled down to a sigh, a pinch on the bridge of his nose, and a:

"Need a new damn hobby, swear to gods."

* * *

The building was more or less empty, with most of the lights turned off— a good thing, in terms of employee welfare, and maybe the environment.

Not so much for relieving a sense of existential dread.

Long, dim corridors with lights automatically turning on as he walked into detection range, walls lined with obligatory soulless holiday decorations, locked doors to dark offices full of tiny cubicles. 

_Should've gone to a cat café instead,_ Claude thought, planning to turn back around towards the elevator—

"Hm?"

—then stopped, upon spotting an open door at the end of the hallway.

Office 608A, R&D department. That was where he used to work, before getting promoted to manager— and there was exactly one other person there who would show up to work on a winter holiday morning.

"My, who in the world could be at the office, at this time of the year? Could it be the ghosts of winters past, present, and yet to come?" Claude sang, as overdramatically as possible. "Or is it just a certain Miss Ordelia?"

A loud, equally exaggerated groan of annoyance came from the far end of the room, where the ceiling lights were partially on. Claude sauntered over, his mouth curving into the shit-eating grin (as a certain professor described it) reserved for friends. 

"That would be just me, mister manager, sir," the voice behind the chair enunciated, in the flat business tone, before swivelling around to reveal a very exasperated Lysithea. "Good morning, Claude. Why are you here?"

"Could ask you the same thing. Shouldn't you be home for the holidays?"

Lysithea von Ordelia— the woman, the myth, the legend amongst programmers in their company as the genius (a term she herself hated) who could get any project done in half the time with twice the quality. If there was one thing Claude could say about her, after knowing her since high school, through college, and into the office, it was that she loved and cared for her parents, above all else. 

And she certainly had a good reason to— the Ordelias were amongst the most loving family he'd seen firsthand, between both Fódlan and Almyra, notably lacking in opportunistic vultures who would cannibalize their own flesh and blood for money.

 _Unlike a certain side of my family,_ was his next thought, but he mentally swatted it out of the way to concentrate on what Lysithea was saying.

"...came over from the IT department, at first they just asked me to look over the code, but then everyone in the team started having "other affairs to attend to," so now I'm stuck with renewing both the website and the internal system before the next quarter," Lysithea sighed. "Incompetent assholes."

"You should've just turned it down," Claude said, "and reported it to me. Those "other affairs" would have disappeared in no time."

"Maybe," she said, before slowly turning back around and reaching out to grab the cutesy rabbit coffee mug on her table. "But now that I've taken over, I don't trust them to take it back and do a decent job at it. Especially not with such a tight deadline."

Claude sighed and moved to lean back against the edge of the desk, next to her. "See, that's the problem. People know you can't stand to see things done half-assed, so they take advantage of that and keep pushing stuff onto you. You're going to burn yourself out, if you don't learn to cut those off."

Lysithea didn't respond immediately, taking a long sip of coffee.

"I do cut them off. But these projects," the now-empty mug cup landed back on the desk with a clack, "are _important_."

He could have continued that line of conversation, by telling her that only taking over on "important" jobs were arguably worse— that none of this was truly was worth her well-deserved days off, and she should learn to say "Fuck you, got mine," sometimes. 

Instead, he pointed at the cup and asked, "More coffee?"

"Yes, please."

"With extra cream and sugar and chocolate syrup—"

"Just go make it already," Lysithea grumbled, shoving the mug towards him—

—and as their fingers made brushed, Claude flinched, less because of the contact and more because of how cold hers were. 

Without thinking, he pushed the cup out of the way, then used his other hand to feel her fingers and palms. 

"Sheesh, your hands were about to freeze out here," he said, giving a quick squeeze before letting go and taking his coat off. "Take this. I'll turn the heater on."

Lysithea looked rather stunned as she received the coat, but then cleared her throat to say,

"Don't. It's a waste of electricity, heating up the whole office when there's only two people here."

Claude raised an eyebrow. "You don't want to be nice and toasty while you pick at the incompetent assholes' code on the computer?"

"I'll be done soon, anyway," she said, eyes back on the monitor. "Shouldn't go past noon."

10:32AM, read the clock on the bottom right corner of the screen. Lysithea alt+tabbed from a Stack Overflow page to the compiler, and began typing right where she left off.

For several moments, the only sounds in the air were that of the computer's cooling fan whirring as it attempted to run the code, and of his own fingernails rapping against the mug cup he barely noticed he'd picked up. 

Then, finally, he stepped away from the desk to say,

"Let's go to my office. It's warmer there."

* * *

It wasn't something Claude noticed when he was the one sitting there, but the chair in his office was, come to think of it, pretty damn nice— made of black leather with an adjustable backrest, smooth wheels, and just generally nice and cushy; Lysithea certainly looked more comfortable sitting there than she was in the cheaper cubicle chair. 

For some reason, he almost felt indignant that she didn't get a comfortable place of her own like he did— that she didn't get all the good things she deserved.

"Brownies?" he asked, opening the mini fridge. "Regular brownies, by the way. Call 1-800-HELP or whatever for free counseling on substance abuse."

Lysithea was most definitely rolling her eyes by the way she said, "Very funny, Claude," before adding, "and yes, of course."

He obliged, placing the whole container of brownies on the desk next to the fresh cup of coffee, alongside some napkins. Lysithea immediately indulged, happily chewing on the mouthful of chocolatey baked good before swallowing it down with some coffee. 

"Ah— delicious," she sighed, smiling that content smile of hers. "Thank you."

Suddenly, Claude recalled the first time he'd seen her smile like that— around this time of the year over a decade ago, when the math teacher passed out treats in class before winter break. 

Up until then, he had been under the impression that Lysithea was never not sulky. While she was very fun to tease, getting her to genuinely relax and smile would take nothing less than a miracle, he'd thought, after all of his attempts had failed.

Funny how that "miracle" turned out to be something as simple as sweets. 

"My pleasure, princess," he replied, plopping back on the couch usually reserved for guests.

"Do _not_ get started with that routine again," he heard her say, as the computer booted up with the telltale loading sound.

"Come on, it's been over ten years, isn't it about time you got used to this?"

"Isn't it about time you found a new gimmick?"

"If it ain't broke, don't fix it," Claude said, with an exaggerated shrug. "I'll keep using it, as long as you keep reacting to it!"

"Aaand we're back to square one."

"Claude scores a point~

"Do shut up."

* * *

Once the mechanical keyboard's clicks sped up, neither of them spoke. 

"Hm..."

Claude took his phone out and opened up the work email, in some attempt to feel productive alongside Lysithea. Most of it was trivial, things he could take care of after the holidays, but the mere idea of the other options— going on social media and being bombarded with the expected type of photos and ads— deflated his soul like a popped balloon.

So keeping track of schedules and projects it was, eyes focused on the screen and ears tracking the background noises. 

11:07AM. 

The typing stopped. Claude glanced up to see Lysithea leaning back on the chair, lightly rotating it back and forth with the cup in her hands. That cropped jacket (or a bolero or a shrug, whatever it was called) she always wore was draped over the backrest, and her shoes were off, leaving her feet swinging a little above ground in the white stockings she always wore. 

There used to be a time when she'd never let others see her like that, he thought.

But when was that, exactly? Five years ago? Ten years? 

"Hey, Lys."

So much had changed since then.

"Yes?"

Nothing had changed. 

"If you want to use your leaves next moon and go visit your parents, just ask. I'll let you take as many days off as you want."

It all blended together in an cocktail of nostalgia and repetition. 

Lysithea sipped from the cup. "I will."

"Don't hesitate to take days off for," he paused, very briefly, "other reasons, too."

"Other reasons" meant medical ones— lupus and its symptoms, the things she'd once described as her "unwelcome companions for life."

She usually didn't like talking about them too much.

"Thank you, but it's been getting better," she said. "I haven't had any flares in a while, and the doctor says the prognosis is— decent."

"Decent" could mean lots of things, coming from her. Lysithea always said she felt "decent" before she had a seizure and went to the ER; claimed she felt "fine" when he and the rest of Golden Deer blew up her phone after finding out she was in the hospital after days of not showing up to lectures; yelled at him that she didn't need him to "fuss over me like a helpless child, dammit," in a feat of frustration, back when she was his intern and he visited her apartment after hearing she was sick. (She apologized to him afterwards.)

Today, he decided to take it at face value. 

"That's good, that's good."

Silence. 

"...How are things going with your family?" was Lysithea's next tentative question. 

"Oh, the usual," he replied. "The great Azhdar war of succession isn't looking to end anytime soon."

For himself, his family and heritage was the topic he tried to keep on the down low; nothing good came out of oversharing such personal matters with people he didn't trust.

"War of succession, huh."

"A downgraded version of the medieval ones, where it's more documents and mergers and sneaking around the law instead of bloodshed!"

Lysithea raised an eyebrow. "What, would you rather have a real war?"

Claude half-chuckled, half-sighed, and slumped sideways onto the sofa's armrest. 

"Maybe they'll realize how futile it all is, if they had to risk their lives for it."

More silence. 

Heaters buzzing. Computer whirring.

"You talk like you've already given up," said Lysithea. 

"Technically, I never participated in the first place. It's my mother against my aunts and uncles and," his father's mistresses, but he said, "other relatives."

Lysithea was now sitting back upright, elbows on the desk. 

"She's the one who helped you come to Fódlan, right."

He nodded. "Told me to get some real world experiences here while she got things sorted out back in Almyra, to make sure I didn't turn into one of those useless rich failspawns."

"Like your cousins."

"Like my cousins."

 _And siblings,_ he internally added. 

And honestly, nowadays he wasn't sure whether he was much better, since for all that big talk he always repeated to himself about making accomplishments and forcing both sides of his family to acknowledge him, it was really Ma doing all the heavy lifting while he cowered overseas and lived off her (or her father, a.k.a. grandfather's) money for years.

"...So you'll go back when it's over."

"That's the idea."

"And then do...whatever it is you've always wanted to do."

Claude exhaled and looked to the ceiling, observing the patterns and the lights, like there was some sort of hidden clue in there that could answer all his questions.

"Yeah," he muttered. "What I've always..."

 _If you're going to dream, dream big!_ echoed his younger self's voice, so awfully confident and determined. 

"...I really used to say that, huh."

He managed to avoid choking up while thinking that out loud, thank gods; but he still must have sounded too serious, judging by the careful way Lysithea asked,

"Say...what?"

"Oh, you know," he cleared his throat, back to his usual tone, "all that positive go-getter varsity kid pep talk about changing the world, like I knew how any of it even worked."

The future being better than the present— that was one thing he always had to believe in. If he got through today, if he stood all the loneliness and isolation, tomorrow would present a better opportunity. 

He'd grown and climbed up that mantra, like a vine climbed up trees and walls.

"...And I mean, that's natural, y'know, young people are supposed to be optimistic, they're supposed to be overconfident and throw themselves out there and go wild, because that's how they learn and get shit figured out," he continued, spitting out the words too fast. 

Lysithea was listening to every one of those words, he knew, even though he wasn't looking at her. 

For all the banter and quips they usually threw back and forth, she always listened when he began rambling in ernest like this— when he stopped being the Lear LLC operations manager, the so-called "charming and eloquent" head of U of D Toastmasters, the secretly tryhard valedictorian and prom king who was always more conscious of what other equally self-conscious teenagers gossiped about him than he pretended to be.

"That's how they— find where they belong."

Once again, silence.

He should have put on some background music earlier.

"...And you haven't?" came Lysithea's voice, almost too soft to make out.

Claude lowered his head to look forward, the afterimage from ceiling light blurring his vision.

"Nope," a breathy chuckle escaped him, "still don't know what I am or where I should be or— honestly, the most embarassing part is that I still spend time genuinely agonizing over this, like some sort of overgrown adolescent, when I'm nearly thirty. Thirty!"

Lysithea sighed, now slumped over the desk with the keyboard pushed aside. "Just a week ago, you were telling people that thirty isn't old."

"I still stand by that," he retorted. 

"Yet you're afraid of growing any older without..." she rested her head against her folded arms, "...having everything figured out?"

Pause.

"Maybe," he answered, truthfully. "And sometimes—"

Sometimes, when he heard news of what everyone was up to, both good and bad, none of it felt real, like he might be living in a different world from them. 

Sometimes, when he checked the calendar after not paying attention for a while, the season had changed. 

Sometimes, between the work email, the friend email, and the family email, the only one that had any new messages in it for weeks were the first one. 

"Feels like I'm stuck and the rest of the world is moving on without me, sometimes," he laughed. "And my life right now isn't even remotely close to the what I dreamt of years ago, but hey."

_Roll, tap._

"I'll get used to it."

_Whirr, buzz._

"Already am, to an extent."

_Tap, tap, tap,_

"Just have to...lower my expectations, come down from la-la dreamland to reality—" 

Something soft cut off his self-pitying monologue, and although he heard her footsteps approaching him, he wasn't sure whether that actually happened, until he looked up to see Lysithea's very much real (and flushed) face. 

Wearing a mix of annoyance, sadness, pity, and bashfulness, but also— understanding.

"I know," she said, leaning closer to grip one of his shoulders. "I've— thought all of that before, too, every time I had to give up. I get it."

Those times she called him to drink alcohol she couldn't hold because she wouldn't be able to continue her studies in Morfis like she wanted to, had to turn down the job at the research center she'd be much happier at because of money, took loans due to not just her own hospital bills, but also for her parents'. 

That previous kiss must have short-circuited his brain, though, because he didn't see the connection between those things and kissing her like this, being so physically close to another person for the first time in— what, over a year?

When they parted, he stared at her with, no doubt, an extremely stupid expression.

"...It's the holidays, Claude," she sighed. "So I don't want either of us to wallow in those kinds of things right now. Got it?"

Her scent and warmth was too comforting for him to reply with anything other than a,

"Got it."

* * *

So that was how they ended up like— that, Lysithea's purple pencil skirt hiked up and bunched around her waist, his own pants uncomfortably tight, grinding and kissing nonstop. 

The last one he was particularly grateful for, because if they stopped, if he had a chance to breathe, he'd probably say something that would ruin the moment like, "So what does this make us, exactly," or "I thought you'd gotten over that little crush on me a long time ago," or "If the HR department saw us, we're definitely ending up on the naughty list."

Her necktie (only she'd wear a necktie coming to work during the holidays, he thought) was thrown off on the sofa next to him, and he managed to undo enough buttons on her shirt to reveal the lavender bralette underneath— one of those front clasp ones, so he could easily open them to reveal her small breasts underneath.

"...Do something other than staring," she muttered, trying a little too hard to sound not embarassed, so he leaned in to lick one nipple, before lightly blowing on it. 

Lysithea jolted in his lap, and he continued, alternating between kissing around her breasts and avoiding her nipples to aggressively sucking on them, leaving small bite marks. One of her hands held his head close to her as he switched, fingers knotting into his hair, while the other gripped his shoulders; then she began squirming when he ran both hands down to her rear, squeezing and pinching over the white pantystockings. 

"You're...good," was her verdict, when he finally looked up to see her flushed face. 

Claude laughed. "Why, I'm honored to hear that from you, princess."

"Now's not the time to tease me."

"I wasn't," he said, standing up and scooping her up in his arms to carry her over to his desk. 

A part of him was too conscious of how her arms so readily clung over his neck during the short distance, the other parts told him to stop overthinking things and just get on with it already: fucking his subordinate, his long-time friend, his—

— _could have been your lover, if you weren't such a coward,_ said a voice, which he ignored in favor of laying her on the desk and spreading her legs. 

Lysithea's eyes widened in surprise when he ripped the crotch of the pantyhose open, but she certainly didn't seem to have any complaints about it when he pulled her panties (lavender, matching the bralette) aside and dove in, licking all the way up from her dripping entrance to her swollen clit. 

There were muffled noises from her throat as he repeated the motion several times, before switching to pressing his tongue against the nub, then sucking, using every trick he knew to overwhelm her with pleasure until her thighs shook.

Least he could do, really, to show thanks for the pity sex they'd probably never bring up again.

"Claude— _mmh_ —"

She came gripping his hair with one hand and bucking her hips into him. When he rose back up, he reached out and removed her other hand from where it was clasped over her mouth. 

"It's not like anyone will hear, right?"

No protests, and when he sat her back upright, she reached down trying to undo his belt buckle; he helped along, unzipping his pants and pulling his boxers down. Her eyes widened alongside a little gasp as he pressed the length against her stomach, smearing precum on her skirt. 

"Like what you see?" he teased, unable to not grin.

"D-don't get cocky," she chided, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

There was some resistance as he pressed against her entrance, but it went in, inch by inch, then at once, between gasps and breathes and moans. Her legs locked around his waist once he'd bottomed out; he laid her back down on the table for more support, and then kissing her over and over again as they rocked back and forth came like the most obvious thing in the world. 

This was just sex, he reminded himself, feeling an orgasm build.

They were just lonely. None of it had to mean anything. 

"...Lys."

He desperately needed it to mean something, that they hadn't drifted apart even as life became a blur over the years, that she always listened to him even when he reverted into the sorry pathetic kid he always was inside—

"I think I,"

—that everything about the current moment was _right_ and made him feel like things would be okay, as long as she stayed close to him, just like this.

His sentence was cut off with a kiss, the longest one by far; Lysithea came right as they parted, moaning softly and burying her face into his neck, and he decided to give her some time to catch her breath, happy enough with simply feeling her pant against the continued move into his own climax.

And then the words came out, exactly as he thought,

"I've been in love with you for a while now."

except it was in her voice.

He didn't know how he responded as he gave one final thrust, but it must have been the right one, by how she smiled— like nothing but the two of them existed. 

* * *

It was three in the afternoon when they finally left the building. 

Outside, the sky was still bright, covered in light gray clouds starting to sprinkle down snowflakes. 

Claude slammed the car door shut and opened up the weather app on his phone, looking at the next two day's forecast. "Looks like we might get a white St. Cichol's Day."

"Put your phone away when you're driving, Claude," said Lysithea, clicking the seat belt into place next to him. 

"Yes, yes, as her princessliness says~" he sung, starting up the car. 

"Really n—" she cut off mid-sentence and sighed. "Nope, not giving you a reaction to that again."

"But you already did."

"Did not."

Claude shrugged and tapped on the holiday music station on his phone. A tune he immediately recognized began playing— a jazzy remake of an old-timey carol, about a king and a scholar who abandoned everything and flew far away on a white wyvern. 

Such sappy and hopelessly romantic lyrics, but that was the exact reason why it was beloved, he figured; everyone dreamed of finding a special someone who could make them feel like they had the whole world. 

"Lysithea?"

"Yes?"

Or perhaps— someone they could forget about rest of the world with. 

Claude leaned over for a quick kiss, before putting the seatbelt on. 

"Happy holidays."

**Author's Note:**

> Check out the [Lysiclaude NSFW Bingo](https://twitter.com/lysiclaudensfw?s=09)!  
>   
> [Join the Lysiclaude Discord!](https://discord.gg/GZmtGbw)  
>   
> [Writer twitter](https://twitter.com/slotumn?s=09)  
>   
> [Artist twitter](https://twitter.com/denpring?s=09)  
> 


End file.
